Quidditch Through The Ages
by ickle-helena
Summary: Charity staff vs student Quidditch match at Hogwarts. Did you know there are 700 known fouls? The staff do. All bets are on... 4 UP!
1. An Idea

The first fanfic I started on, so pretty old, and very silly, but I thought I'd get it posted before I leave uni and lose my internet access…

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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**Quidditch Through The Ages**

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**Chapter One: An Idea**

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The Gryffindors at breakfast were in good spirits, since they'd just hammered Slytherin at Quidditch the previous afternoon. Snape was peering down his nose at them from the staff table with a particularly sour look on his face. McGonagall, next to him, was clearly gloating, and kept grinning over at Harry, whose capture of the snitch after three and a half minutes, by which point Gryffindor were already thirty points up, had been really quite spectacular.

"Professor Dumbledore, there's a Muggle outside, they're coming this way!!!" A Hufflepuff sixth year, rumoured to have Vampire blood and aspirations of becoming a Muggle lawyer known as a "barrister", dashed down the centre aisle of the Great Hall, towards the staff table.

Dumbledore jumped to his feet, and decided not to ask what he'd been doing outside while everyone else was at breakfast. "What? A Muggle? Here?" Dumbledore drew his wand and left the Great Hall at a run.

A poor, confused Muggle postman stepped out of van, and stared at the ruin before him, then at the address of the letter he was holding, then back at the decrepit ruin, which had "DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE" signs at intervals along the perimeter. "I'm sure this is the right road…"

The postman's confusion grew as an elderly man with a slightly overgrown look, in what appeared to be a long purple dress, dashed out of the ruin, and the letter was snatched from his hands by a barn owl, which swooped on him from one of the decrepit towers up ahead. The elderly man raised what appeared to be, at that distance, a twig. The next thing the postman knew, he was back in his van, driving happily along in a Muggle sort of way, with no memory of the ruin, the owl, or the elderly gentleman in the nice dress…

Dumbledore marched back into the Great Hall, clutching the letter, which the owl had deposited unceremoniously on his head on its way back to the owlery. "Which of you" he addressed the masses, "was responsible for this?"

Obviously, nobody knew. "Perhaps you should look at the address, Albus" McGonagall suggested helpfully. "Muggle postmen don't know where they're supposed to deliver to you know, unless you write it on the envelope, they're not like owls."

"Ahem" Dumbledore got the students' attention back. "Dean Thomas. Perhaps you ought to come up here and get this, since it belongs to you."

Dean, muttering what sounded suspiciously like swear words, left his seat beside Seamus and walked, head down, to the staff table, to the sneers and sniggers of the Slytherins, and sympathetic laughs of other students whose Muggle friends had made the same mistake. "Thanks" he muttered, taking the letter from Dumbledore.

Snape sneered. "I suggest, Mr Thomas, that you send an owl to your _Muggle friends when you want them to contact you. And lose twenty points from Gryffindor."_

"Oh no Severus, that's hardly fair…" McGonagall protested. "Just because you're still bitter about your _spectacular_ Quidditch defeat." Snape shot her a murderous look. McGonagall continued to stare at him and shake her head.

"What?" Snape growled irritably.

"You don't send _owls_ to Muggles, Severus!" McGonagall exclaimed condescendingly. "Honestly!"

Dumbledore chose that moment to put a stop to their conversation, and turned to McGonagall. "I think we may need to review those security measures, Minerva."

Dean Thomas marched back to his seat. The usual breakfast chatter resumed as Dumbledore sat back down. "What is it, Dean?" asked his best friend and fellow Gryffindor, Seamus Finnegan.

"Letter from one of my mates who I went to school with. You know, before I came here."

The other Gryffindors went back to their own breakfasts and left him to read it.

"Harry!" someone was chasing him along the corridor as he made his way out of Transfiguration, the last lesson before lunch. "Harry, wait up, I've had an idea!" Harry stopped and turned, Neville almost slamming into the back of him, Trevor ribbiting in shock. Dean Thomas was jogging along after him, looking very excited, and waving something in the air. Only Hermione ever looked that excited when leaving the transfiguration classroom, Harry thought with a wry smile.

"What's up, Dean?" Harry asked. Ron and Hermione, flanking him as usual, looked interested. They continued walking towards the Great Hall, books tucked under their arms, Hermione's stack, of course, the largest.

"That letter I got this morning. Gave me an idea!" Dean sounded very excited.

"Come on, you can tell us about it at lunch," Ron encouraged, as they rounded a corner towards the Great Hall.

"Mate of mine's at state school back home in London…you know, Muggle school" Dean added, seeing Ron's confused look. "They've broken up for the holidays already…they don't stay there, you know, they live at home?"

Ron shrugged, and Dean shook his head in an exasperated way. "Anyway, they had a staff student football match at the end of term, it was bloody funny…football, you know Ron? Soccer? West Ham…? Never mind." He gave up on Ron, and directed his attention to Harry, who looked interested, and Hermione, who at least looked like she understood. Harry remembered the time in the first year he had caught Ron prodding Dean's West Ham poster in the dormitory with his wand, trying to make the players move. "Anyway, it was all for charity – they collected all this money…Muggle money obviously, and whichever team won got to decide what it all went to…" Dean continued.

"Sounds like a good idea…" Hermione began uncertainly, as they took their seats at the Gryffindor table, exchanging obligatory sour looks with the Slytherins. Malfoy and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, who were generally acknowledged as the school's biggest cretins by members of all houses, including their own, looked particularly vindictive. Harry had the urge to wave cheerfully, just to annoy them and remind them of their worst Quidditch defeat for years, but refrained.

"Anyway, that's not the best bit, with it being for charity and all that, everyone got dressed up and there were a few bets on…you know, if the staff won the students had to…well, never mind, there was no danger of them winning, but, if the students won they got to be teachers for a day and they could do what they wanted…you know, tell the staff off and make them wear uniform and set them homework and that..."

Harry's eyes lit up at the thought of telling Snape off. "Dean, who won?" he exclaimed.

Dean's eyes twinkled. "The students, of course…my friend was in goal, he says he didn't have much to do cos all the action was down the other end…the staff kept scoring own goals…they raised a fortune, says it's the most fun they had all year…there were obviously quite a lot of informal bets on as well, got a bit out of hand"

"Wicked." Ron at least understood that part of the conversation.

"So, do you think we'll be allowed?" Dean asked enthusiastically.

"But nobody knows how to play soccer…" Ron began.

Hermione glared at him. "Honestly Ron! Don't be silly, he means Quidditch, don't you Dean?"

The look on Dean's face was ambiguous. He was torn by the idea of seeing the Hogwarts faculty attempting to master the skills of soccer, while he ran rings round them, but realised that it wouldn't happen, that the staff would never agree. Quidditch though…he had an idea some of them had played in their youth, and might be up for it. He sighed, and reverted back to the original plan. "Yeah, I meant Quidditch…"

"Cool" Ron exclaimed, serving himself a second helping of lunch.

"And I thought, Harry…" Dean's enthusiasm recovered "that you could maybe…you know, ask Professor Dumbledore if it'd be OK."

"He should let you do whatever you want after yesterday!" Ron grinned. "Did you see the look on his face when you got the snitch Harry, it was wicked!"

"Sure" Harry smiled. "I'll go see him before afternoon lessons."

"Cheers," Dean thanked him.

Harry reached Dumbledore's office by his usual process of trial and error, "Fizzing Whizzbee" being the key. Dumbledore didn't seem at all surprised to see him, but then, he never really did, although Harry had an unfortunate habit of turning up in the oddest of places. "Ah Harry, yes, I thought I might be seeing you. Please, have a seat" Dumbledore offered as Harry entered the room.

"You thought you might be seeing me, Professor?" asked Harry, slightly confused, wondering if there might be something else Dumbledore wanted with him, or something terribly important he had forgotten.

"Mr Thomas' enthusiasm has been noticed by several members of staff, Harry," Dumbledore told him, sounding pleased. "And the answer is, of course, yes."

Harry stared at him blankly. "Yes?"

"Yes, you may have your game. A fine opportunity to raise funds for a worthy cause." At this, Dumbledore looked positively delighted. "I would suggest you contact the Quidditch captains and come to some arrangement with regard to the team, and your chosen charity. I understand you may have ideas for some…er…rather, informal bets, shall we say, but I limit this to nothing illegal, dangerous, or against school rules. The staff will, of course, also be most sporting."

"They…they will?" asked Harry, shocked, imagining Snape being "sporting." "Are you sure?"

"Ah, I shall see to it that they shall," said Dumbledore with an air of satisfaction. "Next Friday afternoon seems suitable. All classes shall be cancelled. A fine end to the term."

"Thank you, Sir," said Harry, unable to believe his luck. He dashed back to Gryffindor tower to give the others the good news.

Reviews appreciated. Thanks very much :-)


	2. Loopholes

**Chapter Two: Loopholes**

"So," said Albus Dumbledore to the assembled staff, as the next day's morning meeting began. "Do I need to ask for volunteers for the Quidditch team? Or has Madam Hooch, in her enthusiasm, signed you all up?"

Snape muttered something, of which the only word the others could make out was "damned". McGonagall sniggered, which drew Albus' attention to her.

"Minerva, for an ex Gryffindor Quidditch captain, you've kept rather quiet. Why is that?"

"Well, it was rather a long time ago…" she said, smiling slightly. "Besides, I haven't played for years, I don't…"

At that moment Madam Hooch ran in, slamming the door behind her. "Sorry Albus, just discussing this charity match with the Quidditch captains. They want me to play, but I said I didn't know who'd referee if I did."

"I will" Snape volunteered immediately. After all Hooch's endless stories about her own Quidditch days, he just wanted to see whether she was as good as she said she was. Sprout rounded on Snape.

"You? You can't referee, you're…well, biased…"

"Not that that's such a bad thing under the circumstances…" Professor Flitwick added with a smile, and turned his attention back to Professor McGonagall. "What position did you play, Minerva?"

There was a pause, as if revealing this would be sealing her fate. "Chaser," Dumbledore told them.

"Wonderful" Madam Hooch pulled a quill and parchment out of her pocket, and scrawled Minerva's name down. "The first member of the team…this is going to be great, reminds me of my Quidditch days, I was Ravenclaw's seeker for five years, it was fantastic, it was..." The rest of the staff tuned out of her enthusiastic rant. They'd heard it all before.

Severus smirked. "Give Potter a run for his money, eh?"

"What?" asked Hooch.

"Who else will they field? The youngest seeker for a century and all that? Oh come on…"

"You should do it" Minerva said quietly. "Keep me company on the team…"

At that moment, Professor Binns entered the staff room through the fireplace, looking more enthusiastic than everyone had ever seen him since his death. "I want to play" he announced. "I wasn't a bad keeper in my youth, although that was rather a long time ago, I must say, I haven't played in about a hundred years."

There was an awkward silence. McGonagall cleared her throat and looked at Dumbledore. "I think" said Dumbledore gently, "that it would be… impractical…for you to take part."

Trelawney was laughing. "How can you be keeper, the Quaffle would just go straight through you if you didn't fall through your broomst…ow!" Vector, in the next seat, kicked her sharply in the shin.

Binns looked crestfallen. For a moment they thought they were about to be treated to a Moaning Myrtle style "it's because I'm dead, isn't it?" speech, but they weren't. Binns looked at Hooch for approval. "Although Sybill has a point… I mean, couldn't you make me solid, just for the afternoon…?"

Flitwick laughed. "I know just the charm…you would remain solid for the duration of the game with the…ahem…exception of when" nobody could hear the last bit of what he said.

"The exception of what?" Binns asked curiously.

"The exception of when you are in the proximity of a Bludger. Or other players. You could fly straight through them, and…"

"That's cheating!" Trelawney cut Flitwick off. Then she smiled. "I like it…"

"Does anyone else have any bright ideas they would like to share with us while they're at it?" Snape muttered sarcastically.

Flitwick took this at face value. "Well yes, there are all sorts of charms that can be used on Bludgers and the like, they…"

"Hang on a minute" Hooch interrupted. "We can't cheat that much! OK, a biased referee, and a keeper who can fly through people already gives us an advantage."

"It's about loopholes" McGonagall said suddenly. "In the Quidditch rules. They're hinted at in _Quidditch Through The Ages. All we have to do is get the rulebook out to refresh our memories, and find all the loopholes we can." Everyone stared at her. "I'm sorry, but I, for one, do not wish to be indebted to the Weasley twins and turned into a…a toilet seat, or something."_

"I quite agree, Minerva," Dumbledore conceded.

"Well, that settles it then!" Hooch said cheerily. "Now we know we have the advantage…" "Several" Vector interrupted.

"…would anybody else like to volunteer? Of course, I've already put down those of you who were at school at the same time as me, it'll be fun for us to play on the same side, won't it?" she asked Professor Sprout. "You were a very enthusiastic beater at the time, caused me no end of problems!"

Sprout smiled fondly. "Ah yes, those were the days, weren't they?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "I don't think I can tolerate any more of this pointless reminiscing." He marched out of the staffroom.

"Two of the magnificent seven ride again then?" Dumbledore asked, looking pointedly at Vector. "Chaser, weren't you?"

Vector smiled nervously. "I was, once…"

"Oh, come on!" Hooch exclaimed. "We had a great time, didn't we? We were on the same team for four years! You were still on for another two after I left, weren't you?" she half asked, half announced, enthusiastically. "Now all we need is another beater and a third chaser. Any suggestions?"

Nobody moved. Everyone looked at the floor. "I always wanted to play Quidditch" Trelawney announced suddenly. "But they'd never let me."

"Oh, nonsense! Would you prefer to be a chaser or a beater?" Hooch asked enthusiastically.

McGonagall, however, looked slightly put out at the prospect of having to cooperate with Trelawney. "Do you see the outcome of the match, Sybill?" she asked icily.

Trelawney eyed her suspiciously. "Perhaps my crystal gazing will inspire me…and I would prefer to be a chaser," she told Hooch, glaring at McGonagall.

"Anyone else?" Hooch asked hopefully. "No? OK, never mind Albus, you can get on with the staff meeting now if you like."

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes thank you, although I notice you have already frightened one of our number away…"

Albus had lost their attention. The team had retreated into a corner to discuss tactics.

That evening, in the Great Hall, the Quidditch teams form all four houses assembled at the foot of the Ravenclaw table after everyone else had left dinner. Ron and Hermione waved cheerfully to Harry as the headed off to the common room. Harry took a seat with Fred and George Weasley, who were looking enthusiastic.

"Listen up!" Angelina Johnston was perched on the end of the table, legs swinging. "I spoke to the other captains at lunch time and we decided we have to do this fairly…if more than one of you want the same position we're going to draw for it…we have to put together the best team, and defeat the staff! We have to show them how real Quidditch is played!"

George snorted. "Some of them have been playing about a hundred years longer than we have!"

"Who wants in?" asked Kerry Schofield, the Slytherin captain.

A lot of members of house teams decided not to play. "I have to see this!" Katie Bell giggled to Alicia Spinnet and Cho Chang. They nodded agreement, grinning.

"That Creevy kid had better bring his camera!" Alicia added.

Schofield drew for the chasers, picking three slips of parchment from Fred's upturned hat from the seven students who volunteered. "Angelina, you're in!" Kerry told her. "And you Terry" she told Ravenclaw Terry Boot, "And you Justin" she added to Justin Finch-Fletchley, of Hufflepuff.

"Him!" exclaimed a cold voice at the back of the group. Everyone turned. Malfoy was standing with Crabbe and Goyle, looking smug. "He can't play Quidditch! He's Muggle born!"

Angelina rounded on Malfoy. "Justin is a fine chaser. It's a shame the same can't be said of your ability as a seeker. Speaking of which…"

"I vote Harry," Cho stated, scowling at Malfoy.

"We're drawing, aren't we?" the blond boy sneered. "Add my name, Schofield" he addressed his captain. She clearly didn't think much of his attitude, or ability as a seeker either, but reluctantly scrawled his name on a piece of parchment and handed it to Fred. Harry did the same.

Fred held the hat out to Justin, who closed his eyes, and chose a piece of parchment. He turned to the group, unfolded it and read "Harry Potter!"

The players cheered, even Schofield.

Malfoy was outraged. "It was fixed! You wait until my father hears about this!" he exclaimed. "Come on," he snarled to Crabbe and Goyle, leaving the hall, slamming the door behind him, almost rebounding it off Crabbe and Goyle, who were a step behind him as always.

The rest of the team selection went smoothly. Fred, George and Kerry were handed their positions by the younger and less experienced players, who wanted to see a student win and a staff humiliation, if at all possible, and decided to leave it to the experts.

The next afternoon, the team lists went up on the sports notice board. Everyone was very curious to see who had been selected.

**Staff team:**

Chasers: Professor McGonagall

Professor Vector

Professor Trelawney 

Beaters: Professor Sprout

Hagrid

Keeper: Professor Binns

Seeker: Madam Hooch

**Student team:**

Chasers: Angelina Johnson (Gryffindor)

Justin Finch-Fletchley (Hufflepuff)

Terry Boot (Ravenclaw)

Beaters: Fred Weasley (Gryffindor)

George Weasley (Gryffindor)

Keeper: Kerry Schofield (Slytherin)

Seeker: Harry Potter (Gryffindor)

"Look at that, they've got four Gryffindors!" Snape sneered to McGonagall, as they surveyed the list pinned up on the sports notice board in the corridor.

"The main reason for that is that the Gryffindor team is quite young," Albus told him, joining the group of interested professors and students surveying the team lists.

"Albus, they're all quite young," McGonagall told him. "Besides, you think everyone under about a hundred's quite young, just the other day you were saying about…oh, never mind. What _do you mean?"_

"I mean, the other three teams lost many of their players at the end of last year, since so many of them were seventh years, and their new players lack the experience of the Gryffindor team, some of whom are playing for their fourth or fifth season," Dumbledore explained calmly. "I don't think there's any bias, Severus, I think the Quidditch captains of the four houses selected the players very democratically, despite what you may of heard from Mr Malfoy" The look on Snape's face told Dumbledore he was right. "Some members of the house teams didn't want to play, they'd much rather be free to watch, and amuse themselves laughing at you," he continued. "No offence, Minerva," he added hastily.

McGonagall grinned. "Laugh at us, you mean."

Snape smirked. Dumbledore rounded on McGonagall. "What?"

"Haven't you heard?" Snape asked. "Trelawney changed her mind. She won't play."

"Something to do with the fates warning her against it, no doubt" McGonagall put in, trying not to sound too cynical.

"No I hadn't heard, but…" Dumbledore began.

"So, Madam Hooch has put you down for the third chaser. She said she was coming to see you about it this afternoon" Snape announced, with a satisfied smile.

"Oh no, I can't possibly…" Dumbledore began.

McGonagall patted him on the arm. "It'll be fine, Albus, I'm sure you haven't lost your touch." She looked at her watch. "Well, I'll be off then, see you at the training session tonight." She turned to Snape. "And mind you find another few ideas for our…modifications." With that, she turned on her heel and walked towards her classroom.


	3. Training Sessions

**A/N Thanks to everyone who reviewed!  This is meant to stand alone, rather than tie in to anything else, I just wrote it for a bit of fun.**

The quotes in italics are taken from page 28 of:

Whisp, K _Quidditch through the Ages.  London: Whizz Hard Books._

OK OK… Rowling, J.K. (2001) _Quidditch through the Ages.  London: Bloomsbury.****_

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Chapter Three: Training Sessions

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**            Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall carried the crate of Quidditch equipment down to the pitch for Thursday's training session.  When they arrived, however, they were shocked and somewhat disgusted to discover that none of the other staff had arrived, but about thirty of the students were sitting together in one of the stands, looking excited.  At closer inspection, McGonagall and Hooch realised that they included the Weasley twins and Kerry Schofield, who were obviously spying.**

            "Who told you about this?" McGonagall shrieked.  "You can't stay!  Go back to the castle!"

            "You booked the Quidditch pitch," a twin pointed out.  "Everyone could see you'd be here.  There's some more coming along soon."

            "No there aren't!" McGonagall ordered.  Hooch was laughing…she wouldn't mind showing off.  "Go away!" McGonagall continued, turning red, "or I'll take fifty points form each of you!"

            The students looked at each other.  Since all present with the exception of the Slytherin Keeper were Gryffindor, Ravenclaw of Hufflepuff, the loss of points would leave Slytherin with the advantage.  McGonagall, however, did not look like she was joking.  "Yeah, all right…" the twins muttered.

            "If we can't watch your training sessions you're not watching ours!" Schofield protested.

            Hooch looked somewhat annoyed.  "Who was watching your training session?"

            The answer was right behind her.  "Good evening" said Professor Snape, to Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall.  "Clear off," said Professor Snape, to the assembled students.  "Clear off, the whole lot of you!"

            Grumbling, the students filed out of the stands and back towards the castle.

            "Thank you, Severus" McGonagall told him, her colour returning to normal.

            "I've taken all the copies of _Quidditch through the Ages_ out of the library so the students can't have them" he told them, appearing somewhat pleased with his cunning.  "And I watched the students training, they booked the pitch before dinner."  He glanced at the students retreating towards the castle, and saw them conversing with another group who were coming the other way, clearly hoping to see that staff making fools of themselves.

            "So _you_ watched their training session, Severus," McGonagall stated disapprovingly.  "We never said anything about spying, although we know you're the expert."

            Snape looked annoyed, but was distracted by Madam Hooch pulling on his sleeve.  "So?" she asked enthusiastically.

            "So what?" Snape snapped.

            "So, what did you find out?" Hooch demanded.

            Snape smirked.  "They're playing clean.  We've got them."

            Spurred by this news, the staff training session was still a disaster.  Two Chasers couldn't pass, the other couldn't catch, the Beaters missed, the Keeper's charms seemed to be inadequate and the Seeker was riding an old school broom, which couldn't go half the speed of the snitch.  There were eight days remaining to make up for lost decades, or, in the case of Professor Binns, centuries, of training.  It was not looking good.

            The students watched all of this with delight through the telescopes on the top of the astronomy tower.  "They're even worse that last night," Harry grinned.

            "Well, the game's in the bag," George concluded.  "We may as well get on with listing our demands."

            "Madam Hooch has called an emergency meeting," Dumbledore told the others at breakfast the next day.  "Break, in the staffroom.  She didn't sound too happy."

            The message was passed along the table, and met with looks of varying embarrassment.  Snape, however, was reading _Quidditch through the Ages_ under the table, while McGonagall and Flitwick, either side of him, were sneaking sideways glances at it every now and then, for inspiration.

            "It says here," Snape announced, "That '_rules are, of course, made to be broken_'."

            "Shhh!" hissed the team, eyeing the student tables warily.

            "They might be listening!" Sprout protested.

            There was a pause while the team looked around for their opponents.  "Where are they?" Professor McGonagall asked suspiciously.  "What could they be up to at this time?"

            They were, in fact, sitting round several desks they'd pushed together in the Charms classroom, hunched over a few rolls of parchment for which Lee Jordan was the scribe.  "Are you sure about this?" asked Angelina, reading one of the rolls, which was headed _State Thy Demands, over Lee's shoulder._

            "Dumbledore said they'd be sporting," Harry reminded the rest of the team.  "But yesterday he said he wanted to see what we had planned before we went round annoying the Professors with…er, what did he call it?  Oh yeah, inane schemes to embarrass the school."

            "I say we state all the forfeits we like, and see which ones he accepts," Fred smirked.

            "After the staff lose the match they won't want to lose face even more for not keeping up their end of the deal," George added cheerfully.  "We still raise lots of money for a good cause, we may as well benefit ourselves a little for bringing it about."

            "Good publicity for the joke shop," Lee added.  He finished writing their fourth roll of parchment, and sealed the scroll.  "Well, I think that's about it."

            "I'm not volunteering to give this to Dumbledore," Terry Boot said apprehensively.  "He won't know what's hit him."

            "We'll do it," said Fred and George at once.

            "Yeah, since most of this is your idea," grinned Angelina, prodding the scrolls with her wand.  "Though Hermione came up with a few good ones."

            At that moment, Hermione and Ron burst through the door.  "Come on!" said Hermione, tugging Harry's sleeve.  "Breakfast's finished, we'll be late for Potions."

            The team said hurried goodbyes to each other, and scattered throughout the castle at top speed.  Harry, Ron and Hermione needn't have worried.  When they ran into the Potions dungeon to find the rest of the class already there and sitting in silence, Snape barely grunted.  He waved his wand twice, causing the instructions to appear on the board and the store cupboard to open, continued to sit with his feet up on his desk, and didn't look up from the book he was reading for the rest of the lesson.

            Madam Hooch stormed into the staffroom at break and slammed the door behind her.  The six figures of the staff team cowered in armchairs, which in Hagrid's case was fairly difficult, while Snape glanced briefly at her over the top of his book.  Several more copies were on a table beside him, and a couple more sticking out of his pocket.  The rest of the staff appeared to have taken refuge elsewhere in the castle, having no desire to be part of this particular meeting.  "Well?" Madam Hooch demanded.  "Training was abysmal!"  She paused and waited for a reaction, but didn't get one.  The team continued to stare at her apprehensively, and Snape didn't look up from his book.  There was red bump on his forehead, and there were rumours of his reading causing him to walk into a door on his way to the meeting.  Madam Hooch continued, "In all my years of Quidditch…"

            There was instant uproar.  Being called abysmal, they could cope with, but any speech from Hooch beginning with "In all my years of Quidditch" could never be a good thing.  Madam Hooch waited for the protests to die down before continuing.  "We must do something!  We will train every night, and study the rules every day!  Last night's training went very badly, but…"

            "My training," interrupted Snape "Is going very well, thank you.  There are seven hundred known fouls! I'm sure you can manage to use some of them."

            "How do we find out what they are?" Dumbledore demanded, the usual twinkle in his eyes turning into a manic gleam.

            "There's a list in the Ministry," Hooch announced.

            Snape smirked.  "Yes… '_It is the Department's view that witches and wizards who see the list 'might get ideas'."_

            "We _want_ ideas!" McGonagall exclaimed.  "We want nothing but ideas for the next few days!"

            "Well, Madam Hooch," Dumbledore smiled, turning to her.  "It's down to you."

            Madam Hooch looked slightly taken aback.  "Sorry, but what is?"

            "You're still an England coach, aren't you?" Sprout began slowly, obviously thinking along the same lines as Dumbledore.  "If the Ministry's going to let anyone see the list, it would be you."

            "And if not," said Dumbledore cheerfully, "I have an invisibility cloak you can borrow, and a few other items which may come in useful."  He smiled around the group.  Even Snape had looked up from the book.  Dumbledore picked up the stack of copies from the table, and began to distribute them to his team mates.  "Well, break's over.  See you all on the Quidditch pitch tonight."  He swept out of the room.

            Madam Hooch stared at Snape.  "This is all your fault."

            Snape actually smiled.  "Yes," he said, and departed, almost being knocked over by the Weasley twins, who ran past him in the corridor, evidently trying to catch up with Professor Dumbledore, who had dashed into his office as soon as he saw them.

            "He can't avoid us all day," one of the twins said cheerfully to the other.

            Dumbledore gave it a good try, though, but his luck ran out at the end of the school day.

            "Aha, Professor Dumbledore!" Fred exclaimed, as he and George caught up to their Headmaster in the corridor.

            "Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore cheerfully.  "And Mr Weasley."  He nodded to each of them in turn.  The twins still thought their Professors called them both Mr Weasley to hide the fact that none of them could tell the two of them apart, and they were, of course, quite right.  "What can I do for you?"

            "We've spent the day making a list of our demands," George told him.  "For when we… er, if we win."

            "And here it is!"  Fred presented Dumbledore with the list.  "Well, we'll be off then."

            They made a hasty exit up the corridor.  "C'mon George, let's get out of here before he reads it."

            Dumbledore unrolled the list, and read.


	4. All Bets Are On

**A/N: **The penultimate chapter! The usual disclaimers apply.

**Chapter Four: All Bets Are On**

            "Are you ready?" Dumbledore asked Hooch, as they stood in Hogsmeade at dawn on Saturday.

            "Oh yes!" she said brightly.  As expected, the Ministry had refused to show Madam Hooch the list of the seven hundred known fouls.  It seemed that the Department of Magical Games and Sports had got wind of the impending match, had a shrewd idea of what she might want the list for, and knew that it did not involve England's forthcoming match against Lithuania, which was they only thing they cared about.  "We don't want the list falling into the wrong hands!" the Ministry had said.  "We dread to think what the likes of Dumbledore would do with that sort of information!"  Madam Hooch had laughed awkwardly, backed out of the fire which she was using to talk to her colleague in London, kicked a table leg in annoyance, and gone straight to Dumbledore.

            "The rest of the staff were going to come and see you off, but I think they're all still in bed," Dumbledore told Madam Hooch sadly.  "Well, we've got the pitch booked from four, so try to be back by then.  Bye then."

            Madam Hooch grinned, and Disapparated.

            Dumbledore called after her, although there was entirely no point, "And get that list, or die trying!"

            The staff waited anxiously for her to come back.  They paced the staffroom until midday, paced the hall at lunch, paced the Quidditch stadium as they watched the students training, and paced the changing rooms as they got ready for their own training session, while complaining about how good the students were.  Professor McGonagall was almost crying.  "It's all my fault!" she wailed.  "I should never have let Potter play Quidditch, and I should have expelled Fred and George when they turned my wand into a snake, then they'd be out of the way!"

            Snape snored.  "I told you that all along," he snapped.  He was attending all the staff training sessions so he would know exactly what they were planning, although he had spent most of them so far chasing stray students away.

            "No you didn't, you said I should have expelled Potter and not let Fred and George play Quidditch as punishment for burning down your classroom with the illicit mixtures they were brewing in there over the  Christmas holidays," she retorted.

            Snape opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore rounded on him and said "And don't you dare start on about Hermione Granger setting your cloak on fire again."

            "Is there even any point having a training session without that list?" Sprout asked anxiously, checking her watch.

            "No," said Dumbledore angrily.

            "Or without a Seeker," Vector reminded them.

            "Never mind that," said McGonagall, throwing her broom down in disgust.  "We need that list!  Because of…" she pointed the scrolls of demands that Dumbledore had been poring over all day "…that list!"  She stormed out of the changing rooms.

            "If she only knew," said Dumbledore airily, causing the rest of the staff to snatch up the list and fight to see what was on it.

            By dinnertime, Madam Hooch had not returned.  Dumbledore was starting to get worried, but was distracted by an owl swooping towards him.  He read the scroll it had brought him with great concern.  The Daily Prophet was planning to do a report on the match.  Dumbledore chose not to tell the rest of the staff this, lest it cause a panic.

            "Psst," someone whispered from behind him.  Madam Hooch was in the doorway behind the staff table.  Dumbledore was about to speak to her, but noticed Terry Boot and his friends watching him from the Ravenclaw table, and waved her away.

            "Where've you been?" he asked her ten minutes later when dinner was over.  They were hiding, fairly unsuccessfully, behind a statue.

            "Sorry, got distracted reading the list," Madam Hooch said, handing Dumbledore's invisibility cloak back to him.  "It's gone up to nine hundred since the last cup final."

            "Excellent!" said Dumbledore, clapping his hands.  "Let's call a meeting."

            "Midnight tomorrow, give us all a chance to read it.  Tell the others.  And we'll have our training session tomorrow afternoon so the students don't get suspicious."

                But they were already suspicious.  The staff were just… "Too confident," said George, as the team and some other students watched the end of Sunday's training session from their usual tower.  "That was dreadful, why do they look so happy?"

            "They must know something we don't," said Harry.       "And to top it off, this morning Ron and Hermione overheard Snape talking to Vector and McGonagall about the list, they were saying it was too long to get through in time, and they were all physically incapable of carrying out three quarters of the stuff on it."

            Fred shrugged.  "Dunno what that'd be about then.  Dumbledore said he'd get back to us about it by tomorrow, you'll know what he says as soon as we do."

            "What exactly went on that list, Fred?" said Angelina sternly.

            "You'll see," said Fred.  "You'll see."

                Breakfast on Monday was a noisy affair.  Fred, George, Harry and Angelina had put their heads together at the Gryffindor table.  "The staff are up to something." Harry whispered urgently.  "Last night they were all in Dumbledore's office at 1am!"

            "How'd you know?" Angelina asked.

            "The Marauder's Map," said Harry, Fred and George together.

            "The what?" Angelina asked.

            "We'll tell you later," George assured her, but he was cut off by Fred.

"Uh-oh" said Fred, nudging George.  "Dumbledore."

            Professor Dumbledore approached them at the Gryffindor table, carrying the list of demands.  "Good morning."

            "Morning," Fred and George said warily.  Harry and Angelina looked up and tried to look at Dumbledore as if they hadn't just been talking about him.

            Their Headmaster passed back the lists of demands.  "Well, I've had a look at this over the weekend, and this all seems in order."

            "It… it does?" Angelina asked, taken aback.

            "Perfectly reasonable," Dumbledore smiled.  "Well, good day."  And he strode away.

Fred and George Weasley made it their personal mission to wrangle as much money as possible from the staff.  They began on Monday morning at the end of their first lesson, Charms, asking professor Flitwick if he would be willing to put ten galleons on the outcome of the match.

"Ten galleons?" George hissed.  "Fred, we haven't got…"

            "Shh…" Fred held up his hand.  "What do you say, Professor?  It's all for charity, eh?"

            Flitwick sighed.  "Oh, go on then…"

            The mission continued at the end of Transfiguration.  They stayed behind at the end of the lesson, to get Professor McGonagall on her own, while Lee stood sniggering in the doorway.

            "Yes gentlemen?" she asked, looking up from the paperwork on her desk and surveying them over her glasses.

            "We were just wondering how charitable you were feeling, Professor," George grinned, glancing at Fred.  McGonagall indicated that they continue.

            "If you win, you still get to teach us," Fred told her.

            "And if you lose, you don't" George added.

            "Gentlemen," McGonagall began.  "Is this some juvenile attempt to have me throw the match?"

            The twins put on their best innocent look, saved only for their beloved teachers.  "Ten galleons" Fred told her.

            McGonagall pursed her lips.   "And which charity is this going to?"

            "Our joke shop," George began.  "The one Fred and I are setting up for when we leave school."

            Seeing the look on McGonagall's face, Fred quickly laughed and changed the deal.  "No, no, only joking Professor.  It's for St Mungo's, that's the student charity.  And we also want a television in the Gryffindor common room."

            "A what?" McGonagall asked, curious, but she signed the form, and the twins left the room with a look of renewed triumph.

            "The Weasley twins said if we lose, I no longer have to teach them," McGonagall told Professor Dumbledore during breakfast on Tuesday.  He gave her a sharp look.  "Please, Albus?"

            "No," he told her.  "No, we said that we wouldn't allow our charitable activities to interfere with the students' education."

            "All they want is a joke shop," she told him sadly.

            Albus chuckled.  "I think they'll be very successful.  Particularly with you on board." 

            "Me?" Professor McGonagall exclaimed.

            "Oh yes."  Dumbledore produced his copy of the list of demands.  "If we lose, of course.  They've asked for you, and Professor Flitwick, personally, and seem to have acquired a lot of sponsorship for it.  They seem to need a bit of help in those areas."

            "I've always been suspicious of their requests to learn spells for their extra-curricular activities, as they call them." McGonagall confided.  "Mind, their marks in Transfiguration have always benefited from the extra practice."

            Dumbledore chuckled.  "If they offer you any food, don't take it."

            McGonagall took the opportunity to snatch the list of demands, and marched out of the hall with it.

            When the student team put their heads together at the end of the Hufflepuff table during dinner, they couldn't believe the pledges they'd accumulated, from both staff and students.  "I suppose there's more to this than humiliating the Professors," said Fred, looking impressed.  He caught McGonagall looking at them from the staff table, and he and George waved cheerfully to her.

            "We must win!" McGonagall exclaimed to Sprout and Flitwick, either side of her.  "Please save me!"

            George turned to Fred.  "On the other hand…"


End file.
